


You see more than I

by sableflynn



Category: Original Work
Genre: Captivity, Dehumanization, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Knives, Magic, Non-Consensual Touching, Self-Hatred, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22297636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sableflynn/pseuds/sableflynn
Summary: Some of Felicia's disjointed thoughts as Volkan tests her magic against her
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 8





	You see more than I

He doesn’t allow her to have scars.

He takes the reins of her magic and the first thing he does is experiment with her body’s limits. He cuts into her again and again, tracing the bloody lines with his finger, letting her sit with the pain for minutes, then hours, then days. Finding that terrible sweet spot just on the cusp of permanent injury but never crossing that line, never allowing anything he does to mar her body forever. Kissing her skin where there were cuts moments before, kisses that always foretell worse pain to come. 

He shows off her unscarred body to investors, talking about her as if she isn’t even there. _I whipped her for two hours this morning,_ he says, running a hand along the smooth skin of her stomach, _and now she doesn’t have a single mark. That’s how powerful this magic is._ And the investors, those interchangeable groups of the rich and powerful, examine her with a detached curiosity, feeling the unbroken skin, until one of them asks, _can we see it in action?_ He’s ready for this question every time and is already handing over the knife, hilt first. _Be my guest,_ he says with a smile, and once again she realizes she isn’t even a person to them. 

He holds her in bed, their sweat cooling in the still air of the room. His hands explore her body, a gentle touch in contrast with his brutal thrusts moments before. _You look perfect like this,_ he whispers, and she shudders but can’t pull away. _So pure. So...unbroken._ The press of his hands becomes harder, a promise of pain, and she is overcome with the resignation that he will do whatever he wants to her. _Every time I touch you, it feels like I’m breaking you for the first time all over again._ She can already feel the bruises forming, but that’s fine. They’ll fade after a few days, and then she’ll be fresh and new for him again. 

He tells her, _you should be thanking me,_ as he heals all the injuries he gave her that morning, lighting them up in a bright flash of pain as skin and bones knit back together. She stares at him and says nothing, and so he continues. _People could look at you and have no idea of what I’ve done to you._ His hand lingers over her shoulder, an unbroken expanse that moments before was gouged and slashed and bloody. _Nobody but me needs to know how broken you really are,_ and his tone becomes conspiratory. _It’ll be our little secret._

He leaves her with that, and she’s alone with her thoughts for another night. She wonders if it really is better this way. She’s ruined, she knows that, she’ll never be a whole person again, but at least she can _pretend_. When she gets out of here (and she knows it won’t happen, knows she’s being foolish, but she just can’t bring herself to let go of that _when_ ), she’ll go back to her old life and anyone who looks at her won’t even be able to tell that she’s a broken thing. She stares out the window, eyes straining to see something of the world beyond the room that has become her prison. But it’s dark out, and the lights inside are bright, and all she can see is her own reflection, untouched, unscarred. 


End file.
